


Only A Kiss

by Volant



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volant/pseuds/Volant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jaime kisses Brienne for the first time, neither of them are sure what to expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of the Cage

Her lips weren’t soft, but Jaime hadn’t expected them to be. Brienne’s mouth was many things—broad, prim, sincere, cutting—but it was not soft. Her chapped skin scraped against his as he pressed his mouth to hers and brushed his fingers along her neck.

            She didn’t kiss him back, but Jaime hadn’t expected her too. Instead, she froze; her entire body was a granite statue that was like ice to the touch.

            And when, at last, her lips parted, it was not to him, but to the humid atmosphere of the locker room as she pushed him away—hard. When she spoke, they weren’t words of love or acceptance, but a stream of shocked and angry words and he could see the walls—walls that he’d been working his way through—rising up before his eyes again.

            She walked away, then. Walked away, and left him with a sprained wrist and a heart he hadn’t known existed.


	2. Doing Just Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the kiss, a shocked Brienne reflects on her relationship with Jaime.

Jaime Lannister was a pig. A nasty, muddy, black-hearted sonofabitch pig. Brienne told herself that over and over again—in the showers, as she scrubbed her lips with soap again and again; on the walk home, while Sansa held her hand and talked over their History homework; that night, staring at her textbooks and learning absolutely _fucking_ nothing.

            What right did he have, anyway? What  did he think gave him the right to look at her like that, to touch her like that?

            To kiss her?

            She never should have agreed to practice with him. She never should have let him sweet talk his golden-haired, green-eyed way into her after school workouts, never should have sparred with him that first time.

            Oh, but he’d been a cocky bastard. Hit like a bear, went down like a champ, and thrown insults good enough to shame a fucking poet laureate.

She hadn’t minded the broken nose he’d given Red Ron the week after she joined up. That was the same week he’d found her in the gym after-hours, grabbed hold of the bag and held it until Brienne’s knuckles were sore and his back was knotted. The next week, he’d showed up again, with extra Gatorade and a grin on his pretty face, and they’d done it all over again. And again and again until he suggested that they get real practice, practice with each other, and took a swing at Brienne right there, next to the ring.

He laughed afterward, when she gave him a black eye, and let her drag him to the convenience store to buy ice for it. Sat still while she cleaned it up and watched carefully as she shoveled cubes of the stuff into a ziplock bag.

            He hadn’t been laughing when she dropped him off at his house, but that had more to do with the black SUV in the driveway than it did with her, she thought. When they met the next night, his right hook was sloppy, his breath ragged and his teeth clenched.

            “I hate my father,” were the only words he gave her when she tossed him a bag of carrot sticks and told him to cool down. “I hate him. I hate him.”

            When he showed up at her house on Saturday night, tight lipped and quiet like she hadn’t seen before, she hadn’t said anything. Just opened the door wider and pointed him to the couch. He fell asleep halfway through the ten o’clock news. Brienne found folded blankets and clean dishes in his place the next morning.

            He started sitting next to her at lunch. Stole cherry tomatoes off her Caesar salad and pushed French fries on her in return. Told her every dirty joke he could think of. He found her after classes and complained about the teachers. Started arguments and laughed when she got angry.

            And then he’d kissed her. He’d sat and watched her wrap her hands, tossing his ball of gauz from hand to hand, like usual. Handed her her gloves, like usual.

            Grabbed her hand and pulled her close,

            Slid his free hand along her neck,

            And lifted his mouth to hers.


End file.
